


Gunslinger with a Dream

by orphan_account



Series: Danganronpa: Students and Six-Guns [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, West of Loathing (Video Game)
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Historical, Bears from HELL, But Only For A Short While, Comedy, Cowboys & Cowgirls, Differently-Named Characters, Eastern and Western World combined, F/M, Forgotten Civilizations, I Tried, I'm gonna make this fic work damn it, JoJo References, Makoto just wants to help people, Necromancy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Racist Language, She's gonna die soon I promise, Wild West
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-09-30 20:28:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20453084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Naegi had only been in the town of Boring Springs for sixteen hours, but suddenly the idea of seeking your fortune out in the West didn’t seem so appealing anymore. Komaru’s last words before Naegi left his family farm rang out in his head:"Goodbye, Naegi. Remember to write home every once in a while. Still think you’ll be dead by Crimbo. Take care."-In an Alternate Universe in the year 1895, aspiring protagonist Makoto Naegi heads West to carve out his destiny. But unfortunately, Ancient Aliens, Demonic Bears, Reanimated Corpses, Annoying Sidequests, and other nuisances stand in his way. But with a bunch of pardners, plenty of Meat, and a little bit of luck, he can pull through and go down in history as one of the greatest heroes of the WEastern World.Or so he hopes.





	1. Welcome to the Old WEast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wanna know where I've been all this time, feel free to scroll all the way to the bottom.

She woke.

…

Two Million Years.

…

Two Million Years has passed ever since JNK–7734 was banished and sent to this hellhole of a dimension or plane of existence or whatever the heck it was. She stopped trying to comprehend the situation centuries ago.

Part of her was impressed that she’d been keeping track all these years. A smaller fraction of her mind is still shocked at the fact that she’s still alive, albeit barely. She should’ve been dead centuries ago. The average lifespan for a female of her species was approximately 900 years at best. But part of her tells her she shouldn’t be surprised. The Council was always coming up with new and creative ways to torture those they deem were too “dangerous to live” and could “disrupt the ecological balance”.

They were weak. Pathetic. Cowardly. Their existence is all but an insignificant crumb in the grand scheme of things. They repeatedly dedicate time and effort into results that were so utterly, horribly, _useless_ that merely thinking about examples made what’s left of her brain rot. While her race – they might as well be the polar opposite. They were revered as lords, feared as demons, or both. They were power incarnate. They could hold dominion over everything and everyone. Who knows how many civilizations they can destroy? But no.

Apparently, for all of her species’ strengths, mental illness was a running condition in her people. The higher your social status, the worse your mental retardation was. Her people were given a taste of ultimate power. And they chose to throw it away – and her along with it. Not that it was anything new to JNK-7734. She’d been raging over the matter for literal millennia.

The Primordial Being felt her strength beginning to sap. Her period of momentary freedom from eternal darkness was at a close. It was inevitable, and she knew it full well. JNK-7734 spent her waking periods cursing her own species and, well, nothing else, really. It wasn’t the most practical way to spend five minutes, given that they were pretty much extinct, but when you’re a floating energy ball, your options are very limited.

As the all-too familiar sensation of deathlike sleep began to loom over her once more, she wondered how her sister would react when she saw the condition she was in.

MKR-7734 probably isn’t gonna laugh, though. She has absolutely no sense of humor.

* * *

Michael Naegi was having a bad enough day as it was.

It wasn’t enough that he fell off the cart he was hitching a ride on went over a particularly rocky path and left him in the desert, knocked out for over two hours, with no ride, no Meat, and no prospects.

It wasn’t bad enough that when he finally came to, his face was nose deep in horse poop.

If any good news came out of the situation, it was that he was still alive, (despite all the horrible microorganisms he was practically drowning in a few minutes ago). He’s also in a town, rather than in a gulch in the middle of nowhere.

It wasn’t much of a town, though. He did notice that there was a distinct lack of people, and wreckage lined the streets. Cracked bricks, burning planks, and, curiously, half-eaten trays of baked salmon lined the streets. They smelled really good, but not good enough to distract Naegi from the claw marks that lined every single building in the area.

Aside from his clothes, his revolver, and a dusty radish that fell of the cart with him, he had nothing. Hopefully, somebody in…Boring Springs, is that what it says on the sign? Naegi couldn’t tell. The feces on his eyelids were making it hard to see, reading even harder so. Hopefully there was a good hospice nearby.

But with his luck, Naegi can only hope.

Naegi jogged into a large building painted entirely in white and red, with a massive marble Caduceus suspended over the entrance. If that’s not some sort of medical center, he didn’t know what else it could possibly be.

Despite his situation, Naegi tried to remain positive. He may be technically classified as homeless and impoverished, sure. Solid Waste from a potentially mad horse had been generously smooshed into his face, but whatever. Like all the misfortune he’d ever experienced in life, it’ll surely come to pass. There’s bound to be some clean water and a nice stockpile of isopropyl alcohol in this 1895 hospital in the middle of nowhere. He’s not gonna get Mad Horse Disease. He’s not gonna waste away and die in agony.

But first, he needs to grab a ticket and wait in line first.

After a long and arduous eventually, #420 had been called up, meaning him. Nice.

“Name?” asked a nun, who by her general apathy and her rather curvaceous figure, had wished she never took the vow of chastity.

“Naegi. Michael Naegi.” Came the response.

“Naegi? What kind of last name is that? Say, you aren’t one of them Orientals, aren’t you?” The Nun said in a much louder voice than what Naegi was comfortable with. “Your name probably isn’t even Michael, isn’t it?”

“It _is_.” Naegi retorted with as much intensity as he could muster, which, in actuality, wasn’t that much.

“No, it’s _not_, Yellowface. You don’t look like the type of fellow who came from a family who can pay enough to keep their aliases on their registry.” There was no more doubt in Naegi’s mind that this woman, and possibly a lot of other individuals, never deserved to be a nun in the first place. But then again, he doesn’t have a say in whatever the church does in these parts.

“I’m done questioning you, twerp. Say your real name – “the demon nun whipped out a flintlock and aimed the barrel at Naegi’s face. “- and if you don’t, we’re gonna have to be cleaning other stuff off you when we send you down to the morgue.”

“…Makoto.” Naegi croaked out weakly.

“There we go. That wasn’t so hard, wasn’t it?” The demon nun holstered her weapon and tucked it under her white robes, all with a venomous smile on her admittedly pretty face. The rest of the people in the building didn’t even flinch. “Now just why did you have to keep your real name from me?”

“…b-because I thought it sounds cool.”

“Well it’s not. It sounds like horseshit. (How appropriate) Name’s Makoto Naegi. Gender? Just kidding. You’re Male. We already knew that. If you said you weren’t what God made you to be, you would’ve been lynched long ago.”

Naegi, pacifistic as he was, couldn’t help having his hand subtly drift towards his six-gun. Thankfully, the whore of a nun didn’t seem to notice.

* * *

After that long and tortuous talk with what could’ve only been the Devil’s ex-wife, Naegi finally got the horse poop, which had nearly calcified by this point, off of his face. He then proceeded to dunk his face in a large bucket filled with iodine the kindly doctor gave to him, surfacing occasionally so he doesn’t drown. His face felt like it was being hosed down with hydrofluoric acid. He could’ve sworn some chunks of flesh might’ve fell into the bucket, which could inevitably result in the worst stew ever known to man.

“You feeling cleaner?” The doctor, an old man with unusually spiky hair and a white apron over a pair of suspenders, inquired.

“Yeah. I still feel the need to take a long shower after all this, though.”

“The hospital has its own well for medical use. There should be a barrel of water and plenty of soap in the back. Feel free to use it once you’re done drowning yourself in all that ointment.”

“Thrnk glrrk – I mean, thank you.” Naegi blurted into his bucket. “You seem like a nice person. You really don’t belong here, with all the demon nuns and all that.”

“Thanks for the compliment, boy. But Demon Nuns? Is that yet another thing we need to worry about? I don’t think Boring Springs can handle more stress ever since The Bears Came to Town.” The Doctor, in all defiance of The Hippocratic Oath (which at that time had been downgraded to The Hippocratic Suggestion), lit a cigar and took a big puff. “Surely, you’ve noticed all of the rubble, slash marks, and fish casseroles on your way here, right?”

“Yeah – wait, can you run the Bears thing by me again?” said a bewildered Naegi.

“Six months ago,” The doctor began. “The entire West coast got hit by a massive earthquake. I’m talking so massive that besides the usual mass panic and destruction, ancient ruins were unearthed, some towns were raised and others lowered, and new mountains were formed – or so I’ve been told. Seismology wasn’t a thing yet, so no one could pinpoint an epicenter, or even a general area where the quake was the strongest. The earthquake itself only lasted a few minutes, but so much death and suffering occurred in those few minutes.” The Doctor sadly relayed - but him saying the last part made it seem like he was affected by the disaster more than he was willing to talk about.

“Then about a week later, them demon bears arrived.” The doctor continued. “Most vicious animals I’ve ever seen. When a pack of ‘em rolls by a town, they attack anything that moves with reckless abandon. They instill a sense of dread and panic into whoever’s near them. They’ll eat any kind of meat and fish, but they especially love the taste of salmon and human flesh. And you better pray to whatever’s up in those clouds that they don’t see you with those blood red eyes of theirs. Means, they’ll never stop chasing you no matter what stands in their way.”

“Wait,” Naegi began. “How am I only hearing about all of this now? Shouldn’t the Government be alerting the people about destruction if it’s of this big a magnitude?”

The doctor scoffed. “It’s 1895, kiddo. News travels slow. Alarmingly slow. It’s very worrying, in all honesty.” The doctor picked up a small glass bottle filled with translucent liquid. “Surgical Gin? Don’t worry. It’s good for you until somebody says otherwise. And that’s _never _gonna happen.”

“No thanks.” Naegi waved the doctor off, still busy processing the steaming load of exposition the doctor just dropped on his head. That’s not a euphemism. “I think I’m going to take that shower now.” He stopped. “Are these bear attacks the reason why some people are so...cranky? To put it mildly?"

A pause.

"Ah," the doctor said. "I see you've met Sister Gretchen. Real pretty? Extremely bitchy?"

"That's not how I would phrase it...but yeah. That's her."

"No, she's always been like that," the doctor answered. "The church doesn't hold as much power as it used to back in the day, but I guess some people just cannot accept change. Also, she's just a prick."

* * *

Like the rest of the town, the Boring Springs Saloon was lacking in almost every aspect. It wasn’t bad, per se. It was just extremely mediocre, at best. Naegi found this out as soon as he entered the trademark swinging doors of the establishment. Everybody (with the exception of a few quest-giving/deuteragonist-looking types) seemed to be either scared as all hell or bored out of their minds. Or both.

“Sir? Where’s your hat?”

Naegi perked up. “Excuse me?”

“This is a _saloon_, mister,” the voice answered. Naegi found out that the voice belonged to a young woman trussed up as a country belle, with the bluest hair the latter had ever seen in his entire life. “It’s basic etiquette that no man or woman is allowed in these grounds without any kind of headwear. Have you never been to a saloon before?”

“I don’t exactly have a…” Naegi spoke, but the girl cut him off.

“If you don’t have a hat, there’s a cardboard box of spare hats in the corner over there. You’ll know it when you see it,” The girl interjected. “Says ‘BOX OF SPARE HATS’ in crayon.”

Sighing, Naegi stumbled over to the cardboard box and examined the contents. He immediately narrowed down his list of choices to three hats – a knockoff billycock with a paper mask on it, a real fancy looking fedora, and a floppy big-city derby. With a sigh of finality, he settled on the derby because the hat. Like him, had seen much better days. The crust of dried snake blood (Wait…how did Naegi know that this exact blood was that of a snake? The blood part was pretty obvious, though.) on the brim confirmed his suspicions. You know you’ve reached your lowest point when your penniless self is sympathizing with a bloody hat.

Naegi had only been in the town of Boring Springs for sixteen hours, but suddenly the idea of seeking your fortune out in the West didn’t seem so appealing anymore. Komaru’s last words before Naegi left his family farm rang out in his head.

_Goodbye, Naegi. Remember to write home every once in a while. Still think you’ll be dead by Crimbo. Take care._

“…are you alright?” the woman asked.

“N-never better, ma’am. I’ll take this one, if you don’t mind.” Naegi picked himself up and set the hat onto his head, the dried blood falling into his face in flakes.

“As shown by you tightly embracing the hat and quietly sobbing while in fetal position for the past two minutes. Don't worry. Ever since The Bears came to Town, many people are starting to lose hope. It's very much normal. Worryingly so.” the lady remarked with a hint of concern. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before, sir. Are you new here? And better yet, are you gonna be alright?”

“Y-yeah. I’m fine. And the name’s Naegi. Ma-Michael. Michael Naegi.” The boy braced himself for another verbal assault. Hey, a nun, a “holy” woman, did it, so what’s stopping a singer from doing so?

“Michael,” the lady mused, putting a finger to her lips. “Did you know that the name Michael is derived from the Hebrew ‘mīkhā'ē'l’ meaning ‘Who is like God?’ Bet you didn’t. The name’s borne in the Bible by one of the seven archangels. He’s the one closest to God and is responsible for carrying out his judgments. But who cares about all of that nonsense when the name _sort of _sounds cool?”

“Wait – how did you know that the only reason I chose the name Michael was because it sounds cool?”

“I didn’t. I just knew that you having Western and Oriental one juxtaposed together can only be some kind of nickname or alias. There’s also the possibility your family paid to have their names changed on all their legal crap, but unless you’re surprisingly humble, which is a pretty rare trait here in the west, you don’t really look the part.” The lady tapped her temple. "My intuition has never failed me yet!"

“Guess so,” Naegi sighed. “I could use a drink.”

“Sofia.”

“Ma’am?” Naegi’s head jerked.

“The name’s Sofia Merriweather. Come on up. You seem like a nice fella. I’ll treat you to this first drink. Then I can walk you ‘round the town proper. Sounds good?”

“I would like that.” Naegi answered bluntly. “Makoto Naegi. I hope we can be friends, Miss Merriweather.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Makoto. Also, please do me a favor and call me Sophia. I’m only 17. Miss makes me sound a lot older than I really am.” Sophia sauntered over to the bartender. “Two bourbons, please. And some towels to clean the caked blood off this poor man’s hat.”

* * *

Somewhere, deep underground, the ancient technology of a long-forgotten civilization began to weaken their hold on a certain someone.

Still in the plane of darkness, the consciousness within the orb of pink energy bobbed. She did not appreciate her stasis cycle be rudely interrupted. She could vaguely sense the intruder approaching her cell, taking short, calculated strides, examining her subterranean cage that had long since been weathered down by time, brushing the dust off ancient terminals that regulated the latter’s imprisonment, and briefly sitting down to rest in one of the remaining plushy chairs situated before the cracked monitors. Can’t blame them. For such a tense and stuffy environment, those were some seriously comfy chairs.

“You look pathetic.” The intruder said, with a vaguely feminine voice that sounds as flat and bland as lukewarm beer. Not that any of them knew what beer even was.

_Called it._

“That’s no way to greet me now, is it?” the orb’s voice, filled with snark, saccharine sweetness, and sadistic undertones, answered back through the communications system, but in a warbled, heavily distorted kind of way. “Where the hell have you been this past two million years?”

“…I was busy.” The first voice answered back. “You weren’t the only one sentenced with dimensional banishment, remember? You most likely do. According to the incarceration console, your perception of time is slowed down. I assume they did a subpar job imprisoning you due to constraints I still don’t know, or they were trying to be lenient. How…odd.”

“Sentiment. Nothing but a disadvantage, ain’t it, sis? Mercy does nothing but place you on the losing side. That’s why the both of us never lose, no matter what!” The orb fizzled. “I assume that you meant something shady when you said you’re busy. You’re our most feared mercenary. You should have done something down in lava land that should be super important with super violent consequences, right? As if you do anything else in your spare time.”

“The beasts were easy to round up. Promises of food and freedom were enough to have them under my heel. The people are still recovering. They’ll be easy pickings.” The mercenary cocked her head. “The Necromancer has also offered me an interesting…proposition. I allowed him to rebuild his quote-on-quote ‘former glory’, provided it doesn’t go unchecked.”

“And as for me?”

“_As for you_,” The mercenary said, before cracking the impenetrable tank with a few brutal bashes. “You’re gonna need at least a few weeks to recuperate.”

The pink orb, free from the graviton suppressors that kept it condensed into a single ball of volatile energy, floated out of its chamber and slowly began to take form. The sphere first began as a large pink egg, then a larger, distorted pink egg, then a shapeless pink blob altogether. After a few instances of trial and error, the pink blob formed itself into something more humanoid. Something more dangerous. Something with two obnoxiously large twin tails and a larger…pair of organs well below the hair.

Once the pink glow wore off, the lady that was once an egg opened her eyes, taking in the surroundings, which was the first thing she saw that wasn't pitch-black darkness. She immediately squatted, as if she were on the lookout for badgers, Nazis, or naked mole rats with magical breathing powers.

“How you feeling, JNK-7734?” The mercenary cracked her knuckles, which were soaked in azure blue.

“Honestly, MKO-7734?” JNK-7734 answered. “I have no idea why I just posed like that. But for somebody trapped in stasis for two million years, I feel…I feel amazing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I have a lot of explaining to do. I haven't updated Stop, Drop, and Run for a year, (and ultimately deleted it) and I regret not having coming back to AO3 as soon as possible. My grandma had a medical emergency and we had to fly back home to The Philippines. She turned out fine, but in the panic of me potentially losing the person who raised me for 11 years, I completely forgot about SDR, as well as this website in general.
> 
> That's mostly the reason why I never updated, but part of the reason was because I thought SDR was extremely subpar, even for a first work. No beating around the bush, I thought the fic was shit. I'm sorry, for those who left Kudos, made bookmarks and left insightful comments, but I simply thought that Stop, Drop and Run was, well, bad, even with my pathetically low standards.
> 
> Who knows, maybe I can stop procrastinating and rewrite SDR to be bigger, better, and...better. However since Summer is over and School starts in 4 days, it's highly unlikely. This is also the reason why updates for this fic are gonna be super slow and super sporadic. Sorry.


	2. You can always tell a Deputy, but you can't tell 'em much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naegi becomes more well-acquainted with the law enforcement of Boring Springs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the last day of summer, and I cannot be any more depressed. Where the hell did the entire month of August go?!

It’s half past twelve in the morning, and Boring Springs Sherf Kyla Cochrane could not be any more bored.

It’s bad enough that those demon bears had to appear and destroy everything. And it’s also bad enough that the cell door of the only jail cell in the town had been stolen and nobody was brave enough to step up and volunteer to get it back – and her being the Sherf (Sheriff! **SHERIFF!** Blasted sign-painters!) was out of the question, due to her absolute hatred towards her position. Her father defected from the Pinkerton Detective Agency when she was little due to him ‘wanting to exercise his dream of being in a position of authority and respect’ (an argument which is just about as compelling as a filthy spittoon), causing him to be kicked out of the family, and, by some extent, her as well. Her grandfather, however, while he never darkened his son’s doorstep ever again, took young Kyla under his wing and trained her to become his protégé.

But age puts a damper on your capability to cover your tracks, and it was only a matter of time before Jonathan Cochrane, megalomaniac-in-training and father of yours truly, inevitably found out. Besides going into a raging snit about it, he barred Kyla from ever seeing her grandfather again and forcibly assigned her to be the Sherf of this tiny town in the middle of nowhere. So, there she was, absentmindedly twirling her lavender braids while clutching a bottle of alcohol that slowly sent the lady into a drunken stupor, her porcelain face being struck with the delirium of more than a few glugs of cheap whiskey.

“Hello?”

Kyla got her feet off her sorry excuse of a desk and stared at the individual who so rudely interrupted her somewhat-drunken musings.

A male. 17-19 years of age. Smelled of antibacterial ointment and faintly of equine feces. Wears the standard cowboy attire of a shirt, jeans, cowboy hat, leather belt, and spurred boots. However, the lack of callouses or friction burns from his hands meant that the spurs were there purely for aesthetic reasons as he owned not one horse. The Colt Walker holstered by his side made the intruder seem threatening enough to pass for a common gunman, but judging by his washed-out hazel eyes, lanky body, and slight grin, he didn’t really look the part. His hat, crusted with a small layer of dried blood, was a derby preferred by nine out of ten Snake Oilers, but he didn’t seem to be carrying around a bag full of serpents that was an Oiler’s signature garment. Kyla’s eyes, however, were immediately drawn to a massive spike of hair that stuck out of the visitor’s scalp like an artillery shell, fully primed and ready to fire.

For a brief moment, the two locked eyes. The boy pressed further into the room, earning a steelier glance from the Sherf. What use did a kid have for a hair spike so big and sharp you can kill flies with it? It can’t be just horrendous fashion sense. It has to be some kind of birth defect, or genetic amplification, or _something_.

(Kyla thought this, conveniently forgetting that shockingly lavender hair, if anything, makes you a more enticing target – which doesn’t fit well with the mandatory espionage that comes with being a detective)

“Can I help you?”

The boy tittered. [Yes. Tittered is a real word. I looked it up. I can’t believe it either.]

“Oh! Sorry. I…kinda got lost in my own thoughts there.” He idly closed the door behind him. “First time out on my own and all. Name’s Michael Naegi. Makoto’s fine, though. Howdy! You must be the Sherf of -”

“First off, it’s Sheriff. Heard that same mistake a thousand times over. And second, congratulations. You’re finally stepping out of your parent’s shadow and trying to make your own mark on the world,” Kyla poured a good amount of whiskey into a glass and offered it up. “Here’s to not dying while doing so. Kyla Cochrane, at your service.”

“I’ve already drank, thank you very much. I appreciate it – the compliment and the alcohol, I mean.” Naegi whipped off his derby. “I asked around if anybody needed any favors they need doing, and Sophia told me I should probably go the Sherf – I mean, _Sheriff_, first if I were to find some people.”

“You’ve met Miss Merriweather? And she gave you her name? Well,” Cochrane withdrew the glass she offered up and lifted it up to her lips instead, flashing a wry smirk as she did so. “Well, aren’t you the luckiest sonofabitch in the county.”

“It’s not like that!” Naegi went from Habanero orange to Peruvian Death Pepper red in a matter of seconds. “She just took pity on me after I got a little emotional in the Saloon and all. And on the contrary, I’m really, really unlucky most of the time. More so than some might think.”

“As evidenced by your odor, I would reckon. You smell like betadine and horse poop.” Despite the rather degrading language used, there was a hint of genuine concern in them, even if it was heavily repressed. Standing up and making a beeline towards the visitor, she whipped out a small ornate notebook and began leafing through the pages. Up close, she finally got a good look at the kid. Naegi may not appear to be the most threatening man in the West, but his determination to help made him oddly dignified, if not admittedly a little out of place.

“You want to help people, right?”

“Yeah.” Came the reply.

“Well, I guess you can start with li’l old me, if it’s not too much trouble. As you can see, the only cell in this Town has no door. It had been stolen by the Bats-In-The-Desert Gang. The name’s ridiculous, but the members are anything bat. I mean but. Excuse the pun. Anyways, all the members use makeshift clubs and batons as their signature weapons, and they leave behind small balls as a calling card.” Cochrane pointed towards the doorless cell, which, lo and behold, had a small leather ball wedged between the bars.

“Where were they last seen?” Naegi inquired.

Cochrane smiled. She never asked Naegi if he wishes to accept the task she gave him. Instead, he immediately asked her where they were so he can bring them to justice. Michael would make a great partner, provided he hadn’t found one already in a particular bluenette.

“Witness reports say that the BITD Gang was last seen by a cave east of here.” Cochrane answered. “I’ll mark out their location on your map. Also, in case your peashooter isn’t enough when it comes to…subduing the criminals, I’ll be sending the Deputy along with you.” Cochrane opened her desk drawer and whipped out several handcuffs and a fancy handgun that appeared to be worth more than the entire building (which wasn’t saying much). The letters ‘DEPUTY’ and what appears to be a starfish that almost looks like a lawman’s badge were hastily drawn on the barrel in permanent marker.

“Wait,” Naegi looked up at Cochrane in bewilderment. “You deputized a _revolver_?”

“I didn’t deputize that goddamn thing. My dad did. And even if it were up to me, I would’ve chosen that handgun as well. He’s the only officer I can afford.” She tossed the gun to Naegi, who then carefully stowed it away behind his shoulder. “It’s pretty handy to have a backup firearm, with all the demonic bears and whatnot.”

“Great.” Naegi said, turning on his heel. “I guess I’ll be seeing myself out, then. Don’t worry, Sheriff Cochrane, I’ll have the Bat-Whatever-It’s-called Gang all rounded up in no time, and I’m gonna get your cell door back.”

“I’m going to hold you onto that, Michael.” Kyla began pouring herself another glass of whiskey. “Happy Hunting.”

* * *

The sweltering desert heat baked the ground with unmatched intensity, with only the slightest breezes of cooler (not _cool, _just _cooler_,) air hopelessly trying to provide relief from it. The cave, like many other caves that served as bandit hideouts, was derelict, but showed signs of human activity. Empty crates once filled with stolen goods were now being repurposed as background props due to their lack of contents. Broken pieces of miscellaneous rubble lined the gaping entrance, the distinctive smell of smoke wafting out of the cave mouth and making Naegi’s eyes water and face scrunch up. The young man drew out The Deputy and strolled into the cave, mentally preparing himself for any violent altercations.

Small bags of what presumably contained coins, cans of _Chunsoft Classic Chili_, even _more_ crates, a depressingly empty safe, and strangely enough, a bathtub, greeted Naegi as soon as he stepped into the cavern. Although originally thought to be unoccupied, a squeaking rubber duck and the sound of water splashing about alerted Naegi, who immediately dove into the nearest hiding place, which was a container of moldy cactus flesh. Eugh.

“Who’s a cute little duckie? Who’s a cute wittle duck? It’s you! It’s _youuuu!_” the bath man smooshed the toy duck’s plastic beak up to his cheek and made a kiss noise. Naegi couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle inside the barrel, which was a bad idea.

The guy in the bathtub, from the corner of his eye, saw something flinch. And if there’s one thing one should know in the West, it’s that if something moves, it will be shot at. “H-Huh? Who’s there? Show yourself or I’m gonna shoot ya! Imma shoot ya till you’re dead and shoot you some more!” the bandit stood up from the bathtub, looking very threatening with his heart-print boxer shorts and rubber duckie.

Naegi had to think fast. Sherf Cochrane’s trust in him was at stake! His life was also on the line as well, but I mean, who cares, right?

“Can you…can you pass the soap?” A whiny voice blurted out from within a barrel.

“What the fu- “

Before the bandit can figure out what was even happening, Naegi drew The Deputy, tumbled out of the barrel, and dashed towards the gangster to deliver a powerful strike to the temple using the handgun’s grip. He was in no way a killer, but Naegi figured that a swift, clean blow to the thinnest part of the skull should rattle his brain enough to leave the bandit with nothing but a mild concussion when he finally comes to. As the bandit slumped up against the cave wall, Naegi holstered his gun and took a moment to catch his breath, since he wasn’t very athletic.

“You force yourself into my gang, after I’ve finally reciprocated your feelings for me, make fun of all the other members, take more than your cut of our money, and now you’re standing here saying, ‘You’re a massive douche’ to my face?” a voice, male and very much furious, screamed into the cave.

“Well, to be fair, I never really knew what kind of people you hang around with before I joined, Leon. It’s not my fault God made them that way,” another voice, female and a lot mellower, answered. “And I was just kidding around. Don’t you have a sense of humor anymore? Just because you’re an outlaw doesn’t mean you have to be so goddamn serious about _everything_.”

Naegi tried to sneak a peak at what was going on, but in an unexpected twist that nobody saw coming, the unconscious bandit flopped onto the cave floor with a wet _thud_.

“Who’s there?! Kane? Is that you, man?” Naegi heard the unmistakable sound of pistols being holstered and clubs being brandished. “Kane? Come on, man! Say something!”

Naegi held up his pistol and began peering through a crack in his hiding spot, seeing if there was anything he could use to safely take out the bandits, a term used very generously in the WEastern World. He didn’t have the stomach to shoot somebody, even in the foot – smacking someone upside the head was different. He searched and searched, until he found something that he could use.

At the far end of the cave was another barrel painted red and slightly open, revealing what appeared to be gunpowder inside. Naegi figured this out because in addition to the barrel being red, the letters **GUNPOWDER** was also stenciled on the side of the barrel. Why was an explosive barrel just sitting out here so close to the fire? And why was it in the cave in the first place? Maybe the bandits planned to use it one of their heists or something.

Whatever reason the barrel had for its existence, Naegi wasted no time in spinning The Deputy with his fingers and failing miserably, before giving up and shooting the barrel, which promptly exploded.

Underwhelming as it may be, it wasn’t that impressive of an explosion. After all, it’s just one barrel. It didn’t bring down the cave ceiling or anything like that. But it did cause a big enough boom to send the two bandits flying, landing beside Naegi in two unconscious bloody heaps - meaning Naegi could’ve done a lot less harm if he shot them instead. But no point in worrying about things that have already happened. Naegi sighed and cuffed all three bandits and began the long, arduous trek all the way back to Boring Springs, with three vegetables in tow. He made it quarter of the way back before he realized he completely forgot about the Sherf’s cell door. After a long strain of not-quite-expletives burst out of his mouth, he ran back towards the cave underneath the sun’s almost petrifying glare.

* * *

“Huh.” Cochrane inspected the Bats-In-The-Desert gang, who were only starting to come to. “It’s them all right. A little sunburnt and bloodied, but nothing our resident sawbones can handle. Same goes to you. I think you need a doctor.”

“You think so?” Naegi handed the Sherf her cell door, which was strapped to his back. “That’s gonna have to be my second visit to the hospital, and I’m not in the mood to deal with any more Demon Nuns.”

As Cochrane made herself busy by kicking the bandits into the cell, Naegi grabbed a bottle of scotch on Cochrane’s desk and took a swig. He desperately wanted water, but he didn’t have the energy to go to the saloon and ask for a glass. The liquor was the nearest liquid that was drinkable, but along with the quenching of his thirst came an extremely bitter taste in his mouth. Sophia told him that alcohol was really a ‘you have to learn to like it’ type of deal, and not something you suddenly become addicted to once you take the first sip. That didn’t stop her from calling Naegi nicknames like ‘Lightweight’ or some other crap like that. Sighing, Naegi clutched the bottle, raising it for another sip until all of a sudden, he heard commotion from outside. Stumbling into the daylight Naegi saw the source of the noise.

A fancy green-and-black custom stagecoach, pulled by several Palominos, was parked in front of what appears to be a normal house. Several well off-looking gentlemen were talking to the residents in addition to Cochrane, who was trying to get to a bespectacled man with short blonde hair, a fancy suit, a long silken coat and a towering pillar of fancy hats atop his head. He had a sour frown on his face that made him look like he'd been sucking on a lemon for the past half hour, and his arms were crossed as if his making a barrier between himself and all that were inferior to him - which, judging by his demeanor, meant _everybody_. Naegi felt naked staring at the gentleman’s headwear, as if it was telling him that he was as presumptuous as he was poor and vertically challenged.

Naegi’s hatless self jogged up to Cochrane, but it appeared to be more like him fumbling towards the Sherf. “Who are they –_ hic!_ – and what do they…what do they want?”

Cochrane sighed. “They wouldn’t tell me. But from the snippets of conversations I’ve heard and what the bystanders had told me, I think I’ve got the gist of it.”

“And the gist of it is…?”

“This fellow who’s visiting our quaint little town is a Mister Benjamin Dolarhyde of the Dolarhyde Holdings Corporation,” Kyla said blankly. “and that we’re all about to _die_.”

* * *

Three thousand miles to the southwest, a massive sloth of demonic bears are stampeding towards Boring Springs, ready to conduct their next raid while levelling entire towns with wanton abandon and hoarding enough human flesh and fish casseroles to last them several lifetimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Internet cookies to those who can guess who Benjamin Dolarhyde is! [It's really not that hard]
> 
> Real talk, should I make an entire chapter dedicated to distinguishing which character is which? I'm afraid that people might start to get more and more confused as time goes on and more characters are introduced.


	3. No more Handholding from Here on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naegi, Merriweather, and Cochrane attempt to reason with Dolarhyde to assist in the evacuation of the doomed town of Boring Springs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said that updates were gonna be super long and super sporadic? Welp, here's the proof of the matter, in all it's agonizing glory.
> 
> So, to compensate, I'm going to make future chapters a lot longer than here on out. Enjoy!

In a quaint little town in the middle of nowhere in particular, two not-quite-otherworldly beings were having a discussion of the utmost importance.

“You seem too high-strung there, sis.” JNK-7734 drawled as she downed yet another can of Schmaltz Blue Ribbon. “I’m telling you - you’re here telling me the dominant species of this planet may have seemed to regress over the years, but then they go around and brew up this concoction.”

MKO-7734 cleared her throat in visible frustration, no doubt caused by her sister’s surprisingly subpar alcohol tolerance. “I never said anything about the regress of anything. You said that to me while you were still floating around in your tank.” She snuck a glance at the ever-growing pile of crushed aluminum cans at her sister’s feet. “And you should really stop consuming those drinks. I’m gonna run out of currency to pay these insects. I still can’t grasp why this species would have an economy revolving around ** _food_**, and a perishable one at that.”

JNK-0773 snorted. “What?”

“Seriously, stop it. You’re racking up a massive alcohol bill and I’m starting to run out of meat. You’ve only been above ground for less than a week and you’re already going to make the two of us starve to death.”

“Why are you so worried about paying these pieces of rat shit, anyway?” JNK-7734 forcefully squashed her beer can before pitching it into the pile. “You know you can always just kill them all in the blink of an eye, right? Or has the Al’Vrathos’ most feared mercenary gone soft?”

MKO blinked, taking a second to collect her thoughts.

“It’s unnecessary. They’re too pathetic to even consider slaying them directly. It’s not worth the effort.”

A half-assed excuse, MKO thought. She simply wanted a short break from all the carnage her armies were doling out. Just because she was a mercenary didn’t mean she had to bathe in the blood of her victims all the time. 

“...you know what?” JNK began.

MKO gripped her leather satchel, waiting for her sister to continue speaking.

“I guess...I guess you’re right, for once in your ugly life.” JNK drunkenly raised her hand to order yet another can of Schmaltz. “Just let me take back all the Meat you’ve paid, alright? If you don’t want to kill them, then we might as well harass them, at the very least. You’re cool with that, right?”

It took a bit of convincing, with several of JNK’s bratty outbursts thrown in, but eventually MKO sighed in defeat. She raised her hand to order a drink for herself, while a surge of power began to run down her arm before it manifested as a dim blue glow in the palm of her hand. The rest of the saloon’s patrons were too drunk off their asses to notice, and the owners were too busy doing who knows what in the bar, but JNK, with her heightened senses, could see it just fine.

“Whoa,” JNK muttered as the cans of beer were placed before her and her sister.. “Never thought you’d be the type of person to drink these.”

“Like I told you,” MKO cracked the can open with one finger. “While you were trapped underneath the ground, I was busy.”

* * *

The Town of Boring Springs situated several miles away had a drastically different atmosphere, one of oncoming death and destruction.

As the people began screaming for their lives, scrabbling up onto their horses only to fall down again, or running into buildings, a certain house was being cleared out by several goons, all while being overseen by a certain not-quite-affluent progeny and his butler.

“Mister Dolarhyde, the servants have reported that the last sacks of meat and treasures have been loaded into the carriages. I am sure we are all done up and ready to leave this doomed town.” one of the attendants, an old man with an elegant cane [Can canes be elegant?] and an expensive-looking coat took off his bowler hat and gave a slight bow.

Benjamin, arms still crossed and expression as sour as ever, did so much as blink. He did slightly jerk his head in affirmation, his tower of hats almost collapsing if not for the intrusion of a servant.

“Any other concerns I should be worried about?”

“In addition to the townsfolk trying to convince me to hitch a ride on your custom-made carriages? I don’t think there’s anything that needs your immediate attention.” The man adjusted his collar. “In any case, we should be leaving in a few minutes. We just need to do one final sweep of the place so that we’re sure every last porkchop, dollar, or piece of gold have all been accounted for.”

“...good.”

“Then we should have no issues, then. If there are no further developments or complications, then we shall be gone in no time.”

Dolarhyde huffed. 

“...excuse me?”

The huffing can resume shortly, Dolarhyde thought. He whirled his head round to look at the interloper.

“Go away.” Dolarhyde said in his friendly, easygoing tone of his.

“Sorry,” the individual’s arms reached for his belt buckle in an effort to make himself seem more cowboyish [Is that a real word? I don’t know. And I don’t care, either], but all it did was accentuate his ridiculousness due to his pathetic clothes, pathetic hat, and especially his pathetic height. “But I really don’t think that’s happening anytime soon.”

Dolarhyde couldn’t decide whether to laugh or rage at the antenna-haired midget’s futile attempts to intimidate him.

He decided on neither, and that he would keep his cool and see how all of this nonsense plays out in the end.

“...are you threatening me?” Dolarhyde made a conscious effort not try and examine the finer details of the individual he was conveersing to. It wasn’t worth the mental capacity, seeing as he’s a dead man walking due to the oncoming demonic bears.

“Depends.” Naegi gulped internally. He’d expected Dolarhyde to not even respond to him in the slightest. Now he was actually talking to him. He hadn’t planned this far. “If…” he paused, trying to think of something clever to follow up with. Komaru was always the better sibling when it comes to improv. “If you’re actually intimidated by someone such as me, then maybe you’re not as high and mighty as you think you are, Mister Big Shot.”

The old man grabbed his cane by the midsection and began to screw it open. Out of the corner of Naegi’s eye, he could’ve sworn he saw a silver blade concealed in a hilt of mahogany wood.

“Save it, Aloysius.” Dolarhyde stepped forward. “You’re that drunken prick I saw half an hour ago, right? And you’re an emissary of that darned Sherf, aren’t you?”

Naegi nodded. “This is the part where I congratulate you and say ‘give this man a cookie’, am I right?”

“Stop stalling and get to the stupid point of this redundant conversation!” Dolarhyde snarled, failing to keep his composure in check for a few ticks. “Unless that point is you wanting to let some of the townsfolk hitch a ride on my carriages like it’s some common wagon, which in that case, you can forget about even having talked to me in the first place!” he then swiftly turned to the direction of the safehouse. “Everybody out, ** _now_**! We are leaving!”

Several goons of different colors - caucasian, african, asian, pacific islander (Naegi, for some reason, thought it important to list the ethnicities of the slaves, though he can’t remember why) wordlessly shambled out of the safehouse, and began gearing up for steering the horses or accounting for anything they might’ve forgotten.

“Mister Dolarhyde -” Naegi began.

“No.” Came the response.

“Mister Dolar -” Naegi started once more.

“Stop talking.” 

“BENJAMIN!”

“OH, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WHAT?!

“Come on, Mister Dolarhyde!” Naegi pleaded. “You’re the only chance most people have of surviving the bear onslaught. Sherf Cochrane told me that life in this town was so boring and mundane that nobody knew what to do in this type of scenario. It supersedes common sense itself! And if these people die, their blood is on your hands! You’re to blame for their deaths because you had a chance to save them and you didn’t! Don’t you have a conscience, or at the very least, a sense of morality anymore, Mister Dolarhyde?” 

“Mora -” Dolarhyde began, but he was ** _expectedly_ ** cut off by Naegi, who was getting way too much into his speech. 

“Think of the children! Think of the PR Nightmare that’s gonna happen because of all this! Your reputation will be ruined beyond repair! Your Holding company will be liquidated! The members in all of your corporate groups will abandon you! You’ll be wracked with guilt for the rest of your life and live out your days in regretful silence! And that’s no way to live life, is it?”

“That’s totally not how it works -”

“Meanwhile, if you choose to save us, your company will get so much good rep! Your sales or whatever will rise! More investors will be interested in putting money in your company! You’ll own so many shares you might as well be a philanthropist! And all of that comes from you doing a good deed! It’s a win-win situation!” Naegi concluded. “So what’s it gonna be?”

A pause.

Dolarhyde’s mouth opened, ever so slightly.

And then the edges slightly rose, in imitation of a smile.

“**私は断る**.” 

“What?”

“Daga kotowaru.”

“Wait, that means -”

“I refuse.”

“WHAT?” Naegi screamed into the progeny’s face. “BUT WHY?”

“First off, stop yelling, you imbecile!” Dolarhyde angrily spat. “If the people of Boring Springs don’t know how to act in a state of emergency, it’s their own damn fault! And I have absolutely no qualms about being responsible for the deaths of people who wouldn’t be remembered, ** _because they don’t matter! _ **That’s far from being the worst thing I ever did! Did you think I rose to power via negotiations, business dealings, and other legitimate ways? No! YOU KNOW WHY? BECAUSE NOBODY DOES THAT!”

“I -”

“In case you haven’t been keeping track, you dolt, it’s bloody 1895! And demon bears, resurrected skeletons, and other monstrosities are now roaming the Badlands! Don’t go on telling me how it will affect my company nor my mental state - you don’t even know the first thing when it comes to managing a corporation! Also, that kind of reasoning doesn’t work in the real world! This is just dirt in my ledger that can easily be swept off, for I am Benjamin Dolarhyde, and I stand above all of you!” Dolarhyde shouted in one breath, which would’ve been impressive if not for how deplorable he was being.

Naegi stared blankly at the fried lemon of a man, who was busy gasping for air. He wiped several droplets of spittle off his face and stepped back silently.

“W-well...I guess that’s a no, then.”

* * *

The Boring Springs Saloon, once a somewhat-lively drinking place, had become depressingly silent, with the occasional scream. However, two former patrons of the establishment remained, expectantly waiting for a companion from behind the building.

“So?” Merriweather looked up at an approaching Naegi. “How’d it go? Judging by your pale face, nervous gait, and your hair spike all mussed up, I guess it went about as poorly as it could’ve.”

“Talking to Dolarhyde is out of the question.” Naegi muttered. “His ego wouldn’t let us get to him. We’re gonna have to find another way to get to those carriages, or at the very least, the horses.”

Cochrane sighed. “We can’t make Dolarhyde stand down, either. If we don’t do something soon, all of the 50 or so people left in here will surely die.” She sat in thought for a second. “We can try to forcibly take a horse or a carriage for us to use, but Dolarhyde has too many goons at his disposal. We just don’t have the manpower.”

“...but maybe we don’t need to match Dolarhyde in manpower.” Merriweather thought aloud. “Once the caravan gets going maybe we can somehow sabotage the carriages and wrangle over one for ourselves! That could work, right?”

Cochrane nodded. “I can see where you’re going, but that, like a lot of other things, is much easier said than done. Dolarhyde’s henchmen are most likely well-armed, and I don’t have any dynamite or some other cool shit like that. Also, trying to sneak past the men is an entirely new problem in and of itself. They have the numbers advantage in the extreme.”

“But like Sophia said, numbers advantage doesn’t matter. We just need to catch Dolarhyde and his goons off-guard before we make a move on the carriages. We don’t have any especially powerful weapons or explosives, so what do we actually have?” Naegi sat up in his chair.

“Well, we have quite the bit of rope. Every county has plenty of it.” Cochrane answered. “And a large amount of tarpaulin which we recovered from the Bat-In-The-Desert Gang’s hideout. That’s about it. Where are you going with this, Naegi?”

“I have a plan. Gather up all the remaining townsfolk and have them hide behind the hospice. Take as much booze as you can carry. I’ll meet you there in a half an hour.” Naegi ran out of the door, before awkwardly walking back in. “And it’ll also help a bunch if you can tell me where the ropes and tarp are.”

* * *

The Benjamin Dolarhyde Meat caravan, fully loaded up and ready to go, began their journey away from the doomed town of Boring Springs.

“Are you sure everything was accounted for?” Benjamin asked Aloysious as he uncapped a bottle of fine wine before pouring it’s contents onto a golden chalice. His voice was slightly hoarse, due to the shouting match that occurred a few hundred words ago.

“I can assure you, young master, that everything of value has been obtained. Fear not, for I am confident that everything will proceed as normal.”

It did not.

“STOP THE CARRIAGES!”

“What?!” Dolarhyde shot up and pulled at a servant at random as his carriage halted with a screech. An electric fire in his stare suddenly flared up, which made the goon immediately cower in fear. “Why are we stopping?! We’ve barely even gotten out of the town proper!”

“I-I’m sorry, Masda Dolarhyde,” The servant stammered. “B-but Romero told me there’s somebody blocking da way.”

Throwing the servant onto the road, Dolarhyde clambered up the carriage. When he saw the one responsible for the delay, he let out a massive groan of utter frustration. The wretched antenna-haired boy had returned, in all of his shitty glory. 

“I don’t even want to know,” Dolarhyde moaned. “Why are you even here. GET OUT OF THE WAY!”

“I’m here because it’s your last chance to stand down, Dolarhyde.” Naegi said with a steely gaze, despite quaking in his boxers. “I tried to be reasonable. We wanted, at the very least, just one carriage so that we can safely transport the townspeople out of the settlement. But you wouldn’t let us -”

Dolarhyde trained his golden-laced Derringer at Naegi, who was standing thirty feet away from him. He seemed to be talking trash, but he couldn’t make out what he was saying, if anything at all. He was just making tamped-down insect noises, jumping up and down, and pointing at Dolarhyde accusingly, which was enough to make the progeny shake in rage.

“**DO I HAVE TO SPELL IT OUT FOR YOU?! GET! OUT! OF! THE! GOD! DAMN! WA-**”

Dolarhyde can only stare in shock as a massive burning sheet fell from the sky and enveloped his prestigious personal carriage in a blanket of infernal polyethylene. And as the tarp began to burn the money away, Naegi drew his Walker, closed his eyes, and fired, bracing himself for what was about to happen next.

* * *

What followed was chaos. Or alternatively, the craziest cow-friendly rodeo one shall ever see.

“That’s the signal!” Merriweather, holding a lasso, proclaimed to the fifty-something people waiting on the town’s rooftops. “Get them!” She grabbed her length of tied rope and hurled it towards the nearest carriage, which was impressive, considering she was still wearing her frilly blue dress from thousands of words ago.

The rope snagged. The henchman on the carriage took notice almost immediately, and began blindly firing in Merriweather’s general direction. However, once the slave ran out of bullets in his revolver, he was met with a hailstorm of rocks, dusty turnips, and broken bottles as more and more lassoes streaked through the sky.

Due to lack of coordination, most of the lassoes missed - they ended up grabbing other stuff such as sackfuls of valuables, a piece of the carriage’s roof, and even the occasional stagecoach wheel. However, what the vast majority of the ropes did was hit the horses, causing them to buck violently and make the carriages smash into each other. Naegi could’ve sworn he saw several body parts, including somebody’s leg, fly out of the dust cloud that obscured the fracas, but he wasn’t too sure.

On the other side of the chaos, Dolarhyde crawled on the ground, avoiding stampeding palominos and mutilated limbs as best as he could. Repeated insolence against him was one thing, and wrecking his luxurious convoy was another, but forcing him to crawl on his belly and shimmy his way through the sand like some filthy earthworm, getting dust on his elegant suit and tower of hats? That was where he drew the line. Pennyworth would probably point out that he drew the line at the most peculiar of places, but right now, he, like Dolarhyde, was trying not to get their brains splattered on the road by several mad broncos. 

Dolarhyde cupped his mouth in a vain attempt not to get his perfect teeth laced with sand, despite them being mercilessly gnashed together for all of two hours. He will make Naegi pay. He’ll make them ** _all _ **pay. They’ll all be his servants and footmen and he will squeeze every last drop of blood, sweat, tears, and other bodily fluids from their bodies with as much backbreaking labor as he called for. The thought comforted him ever so slightly, but it was cut short with a heavenly choir of snorting horses.

Pushing himself up, Dolarhyde can only recoil in shock as several of the Boring Springs townsfolk began pulling on his convoy’s biggest wagon, which contained the meat, gold, and money stored in the safehouse’s cellar. The horses’ reins were forcibly being yanked on by the Sherf, and the rest of the crowd began to climb on the vehicle while kicking off sacks of valuables worth more than them to make room. 

“STOP!” Dolarhyde yelled. “I COMMAND YOU! RELEASE MY CARRIAGE AT ONCE!”

One can only imagine how well that went.

* * *

“RUN, NAEGI! RUN!”

The voice blaring into Naegi’s ear was loud enough to knock him on his feet. Holstering his gun, he turned round. The chaos that ensued during the ambush had sent him into a daze. The burning wagon was streaking off into the desert, while Dolarhyde was beginning to round up his bruised and battered servants with intent of pursuit.

It took him a while, but seeing Cochrane flailing her arms like a rabid banshee suddenly set off big red exclamation points in Naegi’s brain. He broke out in a mad dash, his feet whirring at the speed of helicopter blades.

“Get more rope.” Cochrane pulled up a random townsman. “And get ready to rein the straggler in. Everyone else, prepare yourselves. Knowing Dolarhyde, he’s probably rallying his goons so that he can ride after us. Stay on your guard. For those of you who were lucky enough to escape with guns, make every shot count. Hide the women and children beneath the largest sacks. Get ready for the worst!” This earned a halfhearted cry from the crowd, who all had rope burns from lassoing so much.

Several meters behind the carriage and counting, Naegi’s legs shook. His knees were weak and his arms were heavy. His mouth was filled with a worrying amount of blood (he accidentally bit his tongue while he was running - oops). He almost gave up and dropped to the sand in an exhausted pile of skin and bones, if not for a rope suddenly flying out of the wagon’s side. Pushing on, Naegi’s hand reached out for the rope, which was whipping about the back of the carriage.

“Come on, kid!” The man, who Naegi recognized was the Town Hostler (due to the shockingly pink “DADDY, I WANT A PONY!” T-shirt with a picture of a yellow winged horse on it), shook his head, as if it was somehow supposed to help. “Just a little faster! You can do -”

Naegi skidded to a stop as the man’s head suddenly disappeared, replaced with a bloody stump and a cartoonishly over-the-top shower of blood and gore. The protagonist would have screamed if his throat wasn’t devoid of any moisture whatsoever.

The Hostler’s headless body toppled from the wagon with a sickening flop. Naegi jumped over it, without sparing so much as a second glance, and grabbed the rope before it could completely miss him. Pouring on the speed, another shot put Naegi on high alert and caused him to whip his head back to pinpoint the source of the attacks. 

And when he did, he whipped his head forth and wished that he never looked in the first place.

Several hundred yards from behind the wagon, bruised and battered as they may be, came Dolarhyde’s merry gang of servants, all of whom were riding on wounded horses and damaged carriages as they trained their firearms on Naegi. Riding a palomino that miraculously managed to be mostly uninjured, Benjamin Dolarhyde led the chase himself, his custom-made Derringer aimed towards the carriage and ready to fire at any given moment.

Terrified of what was to come, Naegi held on to the rope even tighter, but when he risked a look at the wagon, he finally realized some things:

**THING ONE:**

The rope wasn’t tied to anything, and it was unraveling _fast_.

**THING TWO:**

Naegi was completely vulnerable due to him being out in the open.

**THING THREE:**

Dolarhyde was right. They’re all going to die. 

**THING THREE AND A HALF**:

Going out in a wagon chase would sound really cool in most circumstances, but knowing his bad luck that the author seemed to already forget [Don’t worry, I didn’t], his demise will most likely be unsavory, to put it mildly. 

**THING FOUR:**

There’s no way this could possibly get any worse than it already is.

* * *

Back in the ghost town that is Boring Springs, a swarm of two-toned, red eyed, demonic bears had swept the buildings, rooting for human flesh to eat. There was the occasional torn limb, and some really lucky bears managed to find some disemboweled guts or full-blown corpses, but those were few and far between. Surprisingly, not one of the bears touched the carcasses of the horses unlucky enough to be killed in the Great Wagon War of 1895. Too much hair on the head and neck, too much muscle and sinew in the legs and not enough fat, the demon bears mulled.

But they didn’t have to worry. After all, bears have an excellent sense of smell, and they are no exception.

Dropping everything they were doing, the bears bounded out of the ruined county and began the hunt for tasty, tasty long pork. Hopefully there were no horses alongside them, but that was just wishful thinking on their part.

* * *

**THING FIVE:**

Naegi just confirmed Thing 3. Jerk.

* * *

On the other side of the WEastern World, a young man with spiky black hair, a black cowboy getup, and a badass case of red-and-blue heterochromia felt in his bones that something was wrong, but he decided that it wasn’t an indicator of anything and brushed it off.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure our resident ancient aliens deserve to be included in the character tags at this point. Also, their wacky violent misadventures in the human world before the big bad battle is going to be a running side plot. 
> 
> prepare thy fruity drinks


End file.
